


Sing If You Will

by kinole009x



Category: Bohemian Rhapsody (Movie 2018), Queen (Band)
Genre: 1970s Era Queen (Band), Cute Ending, Cute Kids, Fatherhood, Fluff, Friendship, Mentioned Freddie Mercury, Queen (Band) Lyrics, Queen (Band) References, Tears
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-13
Updated: 2020-09-13
Packaged: 2021-03-06 19:01:07
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,815
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26443822
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kinole009x/pseuds/kinole009x
Summary: Nervously anticipating the birth of his first child, John has an important dad moment one night at Ridge Farm.
Comments: 8
Kudos: 17





	Sing If You Will

**Author's Note:**

> DISCLAIMER: All events in this story are purely fictional and not intended to represent fact.

**Ridge Farm, 1975**  
  
The band's instruments were very still in the dark, like ghosts, waiting to come to life. At least, that was John's first thought as he quietly crept into the large hall.  
  
Running his hands through his long disarrayed locks, he sighed. Sleep should have been his priority; Freddie had made it clear he wanted them all up early tomorrow for another day of rehearsals.   
  
But how could John sleep when he had a baby on the way? And when he wasn't sure he'd be any good as a dad? After all, bass playing was likely nothing like child rearing.  
  
From somewhere in the big house, a clock chimed midnight. And the sound of weeping floated down the stairs.  
  
Alarmed, John tiptoed towards the oak staircase, afraid that perhaps Roger had had too much to drink. Though the drummer tended to be a rollicking, happy-go-lucky drunk, every once in awhile he'd drink something that didn't agree with him. The result would be his transformation into a drunken saint, agonized by all the suffering in the world, powerless to stop it, and intent on crying buckets of useless tears on abandoned staircases.   
  
Yes, it could be Roger. It wouldn't be the first time.  
  
Sighing, John prepared himself to haul Roger up to his bedroom by his collar and tuck him back into bed. But as he came closer, he was very surprised to see the cacophony of sniffles and sobs wasn't coming from Roger; it was their host's six year-old daughter who had plunked herself upon the large oak stairs to cry up a storm.  
  
John took a step back as an awkward bout of shyness overwhelmed him. And, doubting he knew the right thing to say or do, he considered creeping back down to his little room in the basement.  
  
But as he turned to go, he hesitated. Her sobs were familiar somehow. They weren't the empty cries of a tantrum. They were the sobs of a child who has known true heartache.  
  
He'd wept just as hard, the day his dad had...  
  
Shaking the painful memories away, John resolutely wrapped his long fingers around the carved posts of the railing and whispered, "Hullo."  
  
He tried to remember the little girl's name as she jumped, her eyebrows lowering to fix him with a suspicious stare.  
  
John gazed at her calmly as she...Tiffany, that was her name!...observed him and ultimately deciding he was harmless, wrapped her small arms around herself.   
  
"Hullo," she muttered.  
  
"Why're you crying?" John asked curiously.  
  
Tiffany's eyes overflowed dangerously. "B-because..."  
  
John raised his eyebrows politely. "Yes?"  
  
Tiffany slapped her hands over her eyes and wailed, "Because I don't have a daddy!"  
  
John winced as her words pinched his heart. Scraped elbows and cut knees were easy things to fix. But losing a father...that was a little harder.  
  
He should know.  
  
Slowly, John rounded the banister and made his way up the wide staircase so that he could sit beside her.  
  
"I'm sorry, Tiffany," he said softly.  
  
Tiffany let out a sob that ended in a hiccup. "He r-ran away! And I t-told Mum t-that perhaps she could pick me out a n-new daddy but she said it's n-not time!"  
  
John nodded his understanding, though Tiffany couldn't possibly see that, because she was still hiding her eyes. Her mum, Joan, rented out their farm as a rehearsal space for bands; it couldn't be easy for the little girl to see so many eligible fathers coming into her house and then...leaving.  
  
"But your mum has a...erm, boyfriend, doesn't she?" John asked.  
  
Tiffany let out a tiny huff. "Y-yeah but he's not a d-dad."  
  
Leaning towards her, John whispered, "I don't have a dad either."  
  
Tiffany peeked between her fingers at him, astonished. "You don't?"  
  
John shook his head. "No. He died when I was very young."  
  
Tiffany let her hands drops to her knobbly knees as she stared at him with wide eyes.  
  
"You'll get a new dad one day, Tiffany," John whispered. "Until then, all you can do is cling to your Mum. That's what I did."  
  
Sniffling, Tiffany wiped at her eyes, her lower lip protruding slightly, but she nodded.  
  
John smiled at her as he got to his feet and held out his hand. "I need to go inspect my bass. Want to come?"  
  
Tiffany hesitated before she whispered, "Okay."  
  
John wiggled his fingers. "Come on, then!"  
  
Tiffany put her little hand in his, leaving her troubles behind on the staircase (presumably for Roger to trip over in the morning). Amused, John noted that she never even questioned why he was inspecting his instrument in the middle of the night. He'd later realize he had been gifted with a child's complete, unquestionable trust.  
  
As they traversed the very last step together, Tiffany unwrapped John's fingers from her own and pressed her hand against his. Her fingers barely reached past his palm.  
  
"Your hand is so big!" she whispered with childlike fascination.  
  
John laughed. "Maybe because your hand is so tiny!"  
  
"Is not!"  
  
"Is so!" John retorted and was rewarded for his efforts with her small grin.  
  
And though they both really should have been asleep, they sat themselves down upon the floor of the vast hall and became the unlikeliest of friends. John unplugged his bass from his amp, so as not to disturb the sleeping inhabitants of the house, and played for Tiffany, while she clapped her hands with delight and urged him to go faster. By the end of an entire hour, John had remastered his Liar solo (while silently praying Freddie wouldn't hear him practicing a song that certainly did not need it) and Tiffany had slumped against Brian's amp, fast asleep.  
  
Putting his bass aside, John lifted the small girl into his arms and carried her out of the house and across the field, the summer moon lighting his way. He silently slipped into the barn as Tiffany's mother flipped restlessly in her sleep and the dog let out a contented _whuff._  
  
Setting Tiffany down upon her mattress, John covered her and the great dane, Chloe, with a blanket and smiled. Perhaps when Veronica gave birth in a few weeks time, he would be ready after all.  
  
"Through the years 'til the loneliness is gone," he whispered. "Sing if you will, but the air you breath I live to give to you."  
  
It seemed fitting, being from a song Brian had written about fathers and sons, and he hoped one day a man would adopt Tiffany and tell her something similar.  
  
"I think we're both going to be just fine," he added, before he gave Tiffany's hand a gentle squeeze and left her to what he hoped were the sweetest of dreams.  
  
 **Seventeen Years Later**  
 **London, 1992**  
  
"Mr. Deacon!"  
  
John looked up from the stoop where he had been smoking a cigarette to see a young woman staring down at him fondly.  
  
He tilted his head at her, trying to determine if he knew her. As she nervously tucked a long lock of brown hair behind her ear, he smiled as he recognized her eyes, sparkling with subdued mischief.  
  
"Hi Tiffany." And John patted the space beside him, inviting her to sit.  
  
Tiffany lowered herself to the stoop and smiled shyly.  
  
"I got a dad," she told him. "Just like you said I would."  
  
"Did you?"  
  
She nodded. "Fritz. He taught me to swim, fish, ride a bike, make a proper fire, play guitar."   
  
John, holding his cigarette away from her so she wouldn't inhale the smoke, allowed the corners of his mouth to lift into a genuine smile. "I knew he'd come along eventually. You know, I became a dad since I last saw you."  
  
"You did?" Tiffany asked with interest. "How many children do you have?"  
  
John bushed. "Five."  
  
"Five!" Tiffany repeated in wonder before she leaned back against the door. "I always knew you'd be a good dad that night you helped me."  
  
John ducked his head, obviously pleased, and they sat in companionable silence until Tiffany acknowledged perhaps one of the largest changes that had occurred since she'd last since him, all those years ago.  
  
"I'm sorry about Freddie," she whispered.  
  
Unprepared for this, John closed his eyes. Freddie had been gone for almost a year but the pain of losing him was still incredibly raw. And so, whenever his name came up unexpectedly in conversation...  
  
John felt his eyes watering beneath his closed lids.  
  
"He was pretty amazing, huh?" Tiffany offered.  
  
John opened his eyes and stared straight ahead into the London fog. Not trusting himself to speak, he merely nodded. Though he was aware that Freddie's death had changed him and everyone knew it, he still made a valiant attempt to contain his emotions while in public.  
  
But sitting here with this young woman, who as a child had once trusted him enough with her own grief all those years ago, he felt secure enough to let a tear trickle down his cheek.  
  
Almost instantly, he felt her hand on his, comforting as it warmed away the feeling of cold cement on his skin.  
  
"Through the years 'til the loneliness is gone," Tiffany whispered. "Sing if you will, but the air you breathe I live to give you."  
  
Startled, John looked over at her. "I thought you were sleeping when I said that!"  
  
Tiffany winked at him.   
  
"A six year old barely ever sleeps," she said, before she looked down at their interlocked fingers, her eyes bright with memories.  
  
And raising John's hand, she unfurled his fingers and pressed her palm flat against his. Her hand was a bit bigger now and her fingers at least reached higher than they had before...  
  
"Your hand is still too big," Tiffany said, a smile tugging at her lips.  
  
"And yours is still too small," John replied, his eyes crinkling with amusement.  
  
"Is not!"  
  
"Is so!"  
  
And they both burst out laughing as Tiffany threw her arms around him in a farewell hug and made him promise he'd have lunch with her the next time she was in the city. And promise John did.   
  
As a light snow began to fall, Tiffany looked over her shoulder.  
  
"So many musicians came and went at the farm," she said quietly. "In a way, they were all fathers. Beginning with you." And then she smiled and repeated the words he had uttered that night at Ridge Farm. "I think we're both going to be just fine."  
  
John smiled as he watched her go, his heart feeling infinitely lighter as he realized she'd just helped him as surely as he had helped her seventeen years before.  
  
Snubbing out his cigarette, John hauled himself to his feet. As he walked down the sidewalk and into the winter dusk, he decided he would ask Veronica for something very special that night.  
  
Another child.

**Author's Note:**

> I recently read an article written by Tiffany Murray about her experience as a child on Ridge Farm. A few nights ago, I woke in the middle of the night and, instead of going back to sleep, I thought this up (it's amazing what your sleepy brain can conjure up in the dead of the night). I hope you enjoyed reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it!


End file.
